


What's Left of You

by mylittlecthulhu (marineko)



Category: Arashi (Band), Johnny's Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-28
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-11 13:04:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2069295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marineko/pseuds/mylittlecthulhu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jun can’t decide on which is preferable – the empty feeling when all the good that had been have gone for good, or the empty feeling when both of them are pretending that it’s still there, that there’s still something worth keeping between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Left of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sharksoul24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharksoul24/gifts).



> Written for the Help Philippines Fic & Graphic Auction.   
> Titles are lyrics from Tegan & Sara's "Where Does the Good Go"

**1\. How do you know when to let go**  
  
Jun can’t decide on which is preferable – the empty feeling when all the good that had been have gone for good, or the empty feeling when both of them are pretending that it’s still there, that there’s still something worth keeping between them.  
  
Over an hour of being in a too-crowded room, with too many people with too many white teeth smiling at him, too many perfunctory phrases and replies and too many people saying he must be so proud, and of course he is. Sho isn’t winning just any award – this  _means_  something to Sho, this is something all journalists covet. This is something Sho had been striving for forever.   
  
He remembers a time when Sho still seemed too much like a fairy tale prince to him, perfect and  _good_  and everything he had wanted to be, that he still wants to be, eyes bright when talking of the stories he had been chasing after at the time, the things he had been trying to get the rest of the world to care about. Back then Jun had never done anything other than read his poems at a café that takes in any amateur wannabe, had never done serious writing and had never thought about it, but even then – Sho’s determination had been, and is – or should still be – breath-taking.  
  
 _Congratulations_ , he murmurs as the sounds of hands clapping surround them, thunderous but unheard, as everything seems dull and muted and blank. Sho kisses him – quick, close-lipped, devoid of warmth – before standing up to go and receive his award. Jun’s hands fall to his side as Sho lets go.   
  
They’re just tired, Jun thinks. Life is busier for both of them now. They never really have the time to catch up on their own lives, how would they have time for each other? At least, he tells himself this, and sometimes he thinks that Sho tells himself the same. But of course, it isn’t really true. They  _are_  busier, but it isn’t as if they don’t have time for each other. It isn’t as if they don’t  _try_.  
  
Dinners and watching television in their living room go by without conversation. When they read they’re no longer eager to share, to read out loud, to laugh and discuss and get lost in the beauty of the words, or the rhetoric, or both. Sometimes Jun would look up and see Sho staring intently at his own reading material, brows furrowed, and he feels like Sho is far away from him, so he chooses not to say anything, turning back to his book.  
  
Later in the evening Sho talks animatedly with Kato and Ninomiya, sometimes interrupted by Aiba, Ninomiya’s boyfriend. Aiba is an athlete and Ninomiya writes for the tech section of the paper; Jun sometimes wonder how they’d met and how they managed to stay together for so long, because despite brief moments of wisdom Aiba comes off as a complete airhead, and Ninomiya strikes him as the kind of person who doesn’t tolerate fools or foolishness. But there Aiba goes, making a stupid pun of all things, and Ninomiya is laughing like it’s the funniest thing ever, even as he calls Aiba stupid in a suspiciously affectionate tone, and hits Aiba lightly. Jun blinks at them, thinking that the mix of envy and affection he feels from watching them too is more than anything he has felt from or about Sho of late.  
  
Sho is looking at him, so he raises an eyebrow, which Sho responds to with a smile. Sho’s smile is charming, practiced. It isn’t the smile that used to make the world stop – or perhaps it’s just that he no longer lets his world stop for Sho.   
  
Someone taps his left shoulder. He tilts his head to indicate he’s listening; Kato is asking about his new book. It’s coming out in July, he tells Kato. He could send an advanced copy if Kato would like to review it. Kato surprises him by asking if he’d mind being interviewed; automatically, he responds that Kato would have to speak to his publisher about that, because they’re scheduling more promotional interviews that he thinks is necessary. It isn’t as if he’s written a best-seller, after all. Poetry isn’t really all that glamorous, anymore, when everyone’s racing to be the next literary phenomenon.   
  
Jun’s too modest, Sho says. He tells Kato about how Jun’s new book is a work of art, and Jun doesn’t know if he’s succeeded in refraining from rolling his eyes. It isn’t as if Sho’s read his recent work, or read enough poetry to know how Jun compares to his contemporaries.  
  
He excuses himself and heads to the drinks bar. It’s surprisingly abandoned – Jun had thought that it would be crammed with spouses who don’t quite fit in, or rowdy writers, at the very least. But there is only one other person, sipping quietly from a long glass.  
  
He asks the bartender for whatever the other man is having. The bartend gives him a strange look, but doesn’t say anything as he pours something into a similar glass, and serves it to Jun. Jun takes a tentative sip, and sputters.  
  
 _It’s oolong tea_ , he protests.  
  
The other man turns to give him an apologetic smile. He explains to Jun that he’s forbidden to touch alcohol until he finishes a project he’s working on, which is a pain but isn’t too bad, because sometimes he cheats and drinks anyway. Not that night, though. Jun sighs, pushing his drink back to the bartender, and asks for something else, anything else.  
  
It is then that Jun remembers the other man, who had been awarded for something or another – political caricatures? He offers his congratulations, to which the man responds with a sheepish smile. Jun smiles back; he can’t help it. The man is probably the kind of person who would have that effect on anyone.  
  
He introduces himself. The man brightens, and claims to have actually heard of him – he says that he’s read Jun’s two previous collections, yes, even the first from the independent publisher with a limited run of a few hundred copies – and that he’s done several paintings based on Jun’s poetry before. A little overwhelmed and a lot touched, Jun leans forward and asks for the man’s name.  
  
 **2\. Thoughts of going on without you**    
  
He’s losing Jun.  
  
Sho knows this; it isn’t exactly something new that is only being brought into attention. He’s seen the way the light in Jun’s eyes have dulled over time when they’re talking, how conversations no longer feel like some kind of thrill ride that they can’t get out of once they step in. These days he’s lucky if they have any real conversation at all – instead, their silences are drowned by the television, and music and books, and work.  
  
It’s almost funny – not that he’s laughing – that the only reason he’s been working harder than usual, that he’s done the work to produce the piece that he’s being awarded for, is because he’s been avoiding the emptiness that is growing between them.  
  
Jun’s been quiet all evening, giving standard replies to all efforts of conversation. It’s obvious that Jun would rather be anywhere else. Just as it’s obvious that Jun is irritated that Sho is talking his new book up, that Sho is talking about it at all.   
  
Now Jun is at the bar, chatting with some other man. Sho only sees them from a distance, but there is a yawning pit of resignation already growing in him, even as jealousy comes. He wants to go over and do something,  _anything_ , but he sees that Jun is leaning forwards, indicating interest, and then Jun’s head tilt back in laughter. Jun is  _laughing_ , and suddenly all Sho wishes is that he’s there, because it’s a sight he hasn’t seen in a long time.   
  
Perhaps, he thinks, he should let Jun go. If it means that Jun will laugh like that, it can’t be a thing too awful to contemplate. But he’s selfish, and while he knows that he would step aside if Jun asks, he would never leave out of his own accord. So he waits, and hopes that this is just a phase, that they’re both tired, that maybe they’ll pull through and things will change.  
  
Aiba notices where he’s looking, and pokes him lightly. He must be so proud of Jun, Aiba says, and he smiles.  _More than you can imagine_.   
  
There’s something about Jun’s poetry that he can’t explain, no matter how he tries. There’s fragility there, something rich and luscious hidden in a thin layer of eggshells, so easily cracked – except that it isn’t. There’s strength, too, sometimes unexpected, biding its time at the core of everything else. He’s drawn to that strength more than anything else – it’s so  _Jun_  in its essence.  
  
It’s true that he had yet to read Jun’s latest collection. But Murakami, Jun’s editor, is a close friend of his. He’s heard enough of it to understand that Jun has outdone himself. He knows the kind of focus, the passion that Jun pours into his work. So if there isn’t much left for him, he understands.  
  
Jun is so much more than just the two of them.  
  
Jun doesn’t return to their table until much later. He seems to be in a lighter mood than before – the corner of his lips is quirked slightly, like he’s trying not to smile too much but isn’t quite successful. But there is also a tinge of worry in his eyes, and the pit in Sho’s stomach deepens. Something has changed, and he isn’t sure that he wants to know what it is.  
  
He pauses as they are walking through the lobby, on their way out.  _Do you want to take the long way home?_  he asks. It wouldn’t delay anything by much, but it’s something.  
  
He watches the flicker of hesitation in Jun, but Jun eventually nods in assent.   
  
There is nothing much to talk about, on the way back. They take the last bus, which stops twenty-minutes away from their apartment. Sho chooses a seat near the back, and Jun sits next to him.  
  
Sho murmurs an apology that Jun had to give so much of his time up that night, but Jun just shakes his head. It’s an important night, Jun says, and he’s glad to have come along. He tells Sho about the man at the bar – Ohno Satoshi, apparently; Sho’s heard a lot about the man, but they’ve never met. Jun obviously likes him a lot. His speech runs a little faster when he talks about Ohno, and sounds more like the Jun Sho used to know. Ohno is one of the most interesting people he’s met, Jun tells him, and Sho isn’t surprised. Ohno is kind of a mystery, as far as he knows. Everyone that had met him tells a different story, and no one other than his agent could find him, most of the time. Nino has been trying to get hold of Ohno for the longest time, but is always spectacularly unsuccessful. Sho’s impressed that Nino hadn’t chased Ohno down that night.  
  
He asks Jun what they talked about. Jun doesn’t look at him, and takes a long time to answer. Sho thinks that Jun isn’t going to, at first, and a part of him is relieved, because maybe he isn’t losing Jun after all, maybe all of this will blow over. But then Jun answers – he doesn’t remember, and it doesn’t matter.  
  
Sho is thinking of how he had been hoping that whatever they’re going through will tide over. He doesn’t know how much of this is true, but as they settle for the long ride back Jun rests against Sho, and Jun’s hand reaches for his. The way Jun holds him feels different, like Jun needs convincing that it really is Sho by his side, and Sho gives Jun’s hand a squeeze to reassure.  
  
Perhaps what they have between them  _is_  an emptiness. Devoid of the initial feelings they once had, the blind admiration, the endless talks. But it isn’t something that can’t be filled again – there is still respect, and knowing looks shared in crowded rooms. He will never be a hundred percent sure, because no one ever really is, but he will do his best with what they  _do_  have, which is more important than all the other things, anyway.  
  
It’s just different, he says to Jun. Doesn’t mean it’s not there. Doesn’t mean that he could let go, and not be broken.   
  
Jun seems to understand, because he squeezes Sho’s hand in return, and shifts closer.  
  
It isn’t perfect, what they have, but it’s theirs – and it isn't something they’re willing to give up on.


End file.
